


primal awakening

by swallows (toska)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Drama, Dreadwyrm Trance, Mentions of Sex, Multi, Romance, literally the narrator can be whoever you want- whatever your ship is, novas why do i let you enable me, summoners, the sky's the limit, whaddup im putting the lust in bloodlust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9843491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toska/pseuds/swallows
Summary: —on loving a summoner: she's ready for a rapture, or maybe she is the rapture.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samarecarm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samarecarm/gifts).



> listen, i'm ace as fuck- according to novas, the only thing we lust for is power. which i guess explains this fic
> 
> also this was meant for the ffxiv kinkmeme but im too embarrassed to post it on there, so im just here. sharing it on ao3. it's fine. (coughs)
> 
> this fic made me lowkey an aether nerd, i cant believe this

It happens like this: you are in battle, fighting alongside a beautiful girl, who beyond all reason— and she’s _all about_ reason— loves you. There’s this beatific smile, she throws your way. It’s a private smile, one that is all yours. And you think about the gentle crinkle in her eyebrows and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and the way her lips curve upwards. And she looks at you, with this absolute devotion, even when the two of you indulge in utter depravity, there is warmth, there is this love. And you know— you know she loves you.

But then there’s battle, she’s taken up all things arcane, before you. But this is your first time seeing her fight with a tome in hand. It’s been a greatsword for quite sometime now, you think. The passing time hasn’t been kind to either of you. But there is something different about her, when she fights with the arcane at hand. Like she’s fully settled into her skin, into her identity, like she’s able to piece herself back together again with the help of void and aether. Like she doesn't need you.

And you don’t, you _shouldn't_ expect her to need you. But there is love in the arcane, that somehow transcends her love for you, and this jealousy is childish, you understand, you know. It’s almost funny, but it’s different when she fights. She learned new stuff, while you’ve been gone, while she’s been traveling. _Of course_ , why wouldn't she?

But this is different. This isn't normal, the _trance_ is not normal. There’s no need for a trance. No need for her eyes to glaze over, the way they do when she’s writhing in your sheets. An ugly part of you wants to see emptiness in her eyes, but she just looks fulfilled and beaming, when she casts a painflare.

She’s casting that beatific smile again, the one she cast at you last night, and it overhung all the _i love you’s_ like the damn moon. This is only the first step of the dreadwyrm trance, and it manages to hurt the most. She doesn't even look at you, doesn’t even notice you as she’s taken under the wings of a god.

She’s ready for rapture.

Or maybe she is the rapture.

The second thing comes following bane, and the third is a fester. There’s something contagious around her, grasping whoever comes near and she unleashes the aetherflow faster and faster like she’s desperate for release. For _deathflare_.

Her face is flushed, and she is burning and burning, shining in a beam of light. You think that she’s fucking ascending. Her face is so euphoric and she’s just entranced, she’s ethereal, empowered and enraptured embodying something larger.

 _Enslaved_ , you think. She’s _enslaved_.

There’s bloodlust in her hooded eyes, and it shines brighter than any look she’s turned your way. She’s in the midst of divinity, and you know that the Echo protects her, but this is primal influence, a primal awakening that starts within her and she can’t release this primal outwards the way she does with her egi’s. This is no Ifrit. This is no Titan. This is no Garuda.

This is one larger, one more special, one she decides she has to keep under lock and key, so tightly wound up within her. It’s like an itch in her brain, and it manages to hit that sweet spot that unlocks all pleasure. This is an aphrodisiac. This is pleasure, this is sin. There’s a creature clawing inside of her, but the marks it leaves feel pleasant, and overstimulate her in such a way that and you wonder if she has no intention of letting it go.

This is the power of the dreadwyrm, and you wonder what she will give to have it by her side. You know you will have to give her this to continue to have her by your side.

She comes to you, after the battle. Her cheeks are still flushed, her hair is disheveled in the way it usually is once it’s been fanned out on your sheets. She smiles at you, puts her hand on your arm, as she gives you a once over, precursory glance.

The touch of her skin feels very hot, a bit clammy in their sweat. Her eyes gaze at you heatedly, and her nails scratch the nape of your neck and you can’t help but shiver. There’s that smile on her face again, but this time you are close enough to see the difference between your smile and the dreadwyrm’s. There’s a softness to her smile, a softness to her cheeks, a softness in her desire. There’s still an uneasiness in your gut at how casually she shifts between the wicked and the divine and then, to you.

You never realized that something so soft, could be so cold, but also be so hot as well. There are so many climates, so many gods within her all raging and battling, but they all mute for the dreadwyrm. You wonder if she mutes for it, as well. Let’s herself be used as the wyrm’s voice piece. The huskiness of her voice, being just an extension of his thundering murmur.

So, it all happens like this: you've just come out of battle, from fighting alongside a beautiful girl, who beyond all reason—and she’s _all_ _about_ reason— has a god nestled between her lungs, or maybe trapped in her rips, or maybe right in her heart, between arteries. And you realize, that you are not the wildest thing that this girl has ever loved.

But she’s the wildest thing you have ever loved.

Now, this beautiful girl clutches onto your wrist, as you continue your trek back home. Her fingers idly making lazy patterns into your wrist, as if it were a spine of a book. She tells you that she loves you, casually, like it’s just another fact of the world, like she’s spouting another bit of information about the aether. Actually, she does just that. “Did you know aether is dangerous in high concentrations?” She asks, but also states.

You look at her, all of her, from the crown of her hair, to the bloodstains that mark her shoes. Back up at the bloodstains that somehow mark her skin, and remember how bright her eyes shown.“Makes sense,” you say, casually.

“It does,” she agrees, licking her lips. A silence passes between you, one of mutual understanding at that exchange. Her nails dig against your wrist, and you’re acutely aware of how close she is to your vein. How she doesn’t even realize.

That night, the two of you take to each other again, bodies still flushed against each other, but it’s different. The sharpness in her eyes is back and that sharpness extends to her teeth, and to her nails and to her smile. But somehow, it also extends to you.

“I like relinquishing control,” she admits. “To give in to what I want.”

“What do you want?” You asks, your eyes glazing over, like you already know the answer. She looks at you, like she knows this too. But still she answers.

“I want you. I want to be primal. I want to stop being and just _hear, feel, think_.” She says those last words in such a mocking tone. “I want to give into my senses. And…” She pauses for a moment, struggling to articulate. But you think you understand anyways, so you kiss her. Let her nails dig into your skin harder, let her teeth bite your lips and bruise them.

“I want a primal awakening,” She says, afterwards— much later at night, when the afterglow has faded and she thinks you're asleep. You don’t think, you don't even know if she’s talking to you or to the beasts that live in the crevices of her soul.

You look at her bare back, at the sheets that cover the two of you, and think this is something you’re better off not knowing.

.

**Author's Note:**

> this entire thing began as a discussion in response to some meme on twitter?? like it was for drawing wol expressions and one of them was on the dreadwyrm trance, and my local summoner and enabler somehow prompted this! ITS A V LONG DISCUSSION ABOUT WHAT IT MEANS TO BE ENTHRALLED BY A GOD, AND DREADWYRM'S TRANCE IS BASICALLY AN APHRODISIAC
> 
> anyways congrats, we're dreadwyrm fuckers now, apparently
> 
> i don't intend to keep writing in second person, but it really helps when i'm trying to write a neutral character?? seriously, insert whoever you want \o/ also let us discuss the empty lulls of silences between these two protagonists, and navigating a relationship where there is a god between the two of you and just moving on from that?? there's so much potential for drama and important Discussions and i'm Here to Talk About It
> 
> i'm leaving those silences for you to fill bc it's your wol, but if you ever want my take on it i could probably do that! (man, ysayle would be the best gf for a summoner, finally someone who understands what it means to have a god between your ribs)


End file.
